


I Was Lonely and Afraid

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair talks to his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Lonely and Afraid

## I Was Lonely and Afraid

by Daydreamer

Author's website:  <http://www.geocities.com/daydreamersden>

Not mine. They belong to the legal owners and I am just borrowing them. No money changed hands.   


Part of the Leaving Series which includes:   
Waiting   
Paper Kisses   
The Box   
Are We Leaving Again, Mommy?   
The Closet   
NanaKat   
Big Boys, Bears, and Boo-Boos   
A Child's Cry   
Rage Against the Past   
A Man Can Feel Anger, A Man Can Feel Pain   
For Love of the Child   
Absence   
Babysitting   
The Rocking Chair   
Edenton   
For Love of the Man   
The Visit   
I Was Lonely and Afraid   


Warning: Contains discussion of child abuse -- physical and sexual.   


This story is a sequel to: The Visit 

* * *

I stopped outside the door, my hand on the knob. I knew I needed to go in, but I was suddenly unable to move. I stood there, not even twitching, and grew lightheaded as my vision began to gray. 

"Breathe," Jim whispered in my ear. I did and the dizziness receded, but my heart was still racing. Jim's arm was around me and I was pulled into a hug; he held me tight. "You don't have to do this, Blair," he said. "You can go over to Simon's and I can talk to her, or you can wait on the stairs and I'll send her away." 

I shook my head. I _did_ have to do this. "It's okay, Jim," I said softly, "I can handle it." I cocked my head and looked up at him. "She, uh, _is_ still in there, right?" 

"Yeah, Chief, she's in there. Her heart's racing, too, if that's any consolation," he added in answer to my unasked question. 

"I really love her, man," I said, my head drooping. 

"I know," Jim said, his arms still holding me close. "Just because you're angry doesn't mean you stop loving someone." His mouth quirked in a small, wry smile. "You've been with me long enough, you should know that by now." 

I gave a single, dry chuckle and nodded, then took a deep breath and pulled away. 

"Just a second, Blair," Jim said as I reached for the knob again. He leaned down and gently brushed his mouth over mine. I caught his bottom lip and sucked on it briefly, then felt his tongue teasing me, asking for entrance. Opening beneath his touch, I invited him in and my body tightened as a shock of electricity raced through me. The kiss was heated, full of desire, which at this moment made it very reassuring. Jim was telling me, in his own inimitable way, that no matter what happened, he loved me. 

He _wanted_ me. 

The thought still engendered awe. 

"Thanks," I murmured as he drew back. "You're getting pretty good at knowing what I need." 

"I know you need to do this," he said, staring into my eyes. 

I nodded and leaned against him again, then pulled back. 

"You can do this," he whispered as I opened the door. 

"Blair, sweetie ...." Naomi was off the couch before I could step over the threshold. 

I stopped her with an upraised hand. "Just slow down a minute, Naomi," I said, "and let's all sit down." Air in the room seemed suddenly scarce and it wasn't until I heard Jim murmur "Breathe, Sandburg," that I realized why. Naomi had sort of collapsed back on the couch but Jim made a motion with his hand and she glared at him, then rose and moved to the chair. My head was pounding. 

I sat on the sofa and Jim sat next to me, not touching but there in case I needed him. The silence stretched between us and I wondered at the anger in my mother's eyes when she looked at Jim. 

Finally, she spoke. She pointed at my box of paper kisses sitting on the coffee table and said, "What is that?" 

There was an edge to her voice that I didn't like. I felt like I was four years old again and I'd done something wrong. I reached out and picked up the box, cradling it in my lap. 

"They're mine," I whispered fiercely. 

"I always loved you, baby," Naomi said. "You never lacked for kisses and cuddles." 

"Except when you weren't there," I muttered under my breath. 

"What did you say?" she asked sharply. 

I just shook my head. 

"He said, 'except when you weren't there,'" Jim repeated helpfully -- too helpfully -- and Naomi glared again. I wondered what had gone on between them while I was on the stairs. 

Naomi rose and paced to the kitchen work counter, then took several deep breaths. "Blair," she said gently when she had finished centering herself, "you were a child and I'm sure your memory is tainted by that child's emotions." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "I really wasn't gone that much, or that often." 

I was starting to get mad again. "This is what you always do, Naomi," I said, straining for control. "You invalidate my feelings in order to make yourself feel better." 

She gasped. "I do not!" 

"Yeah, Mom," I said, passing my box to Jim and rising, "you do. You always have. When we lived with Don, I tried to tell you what he was doing to me -- I tried over and over again. And you never _listened_ to me." 

"You were a little boy, hardly more than a baby. You'd never been disciplined in your life." Her eyes flashed. "How was I supposed to know he was being too harsh?" 

"Hello? How about -- because I told you?" 

"Oh, Blair," she said, her hands floating out to each side in a 'what will I do with you' gesture, "if Don had swatted you on the butt, you'd have thought he was being too harsh. I told you, you'd never been disciplined like that before." 

"What Don did to him was _not_ discipline, Naomi," Jim said in a voice that cracked. I could hear him swallow as he tried to clear his throat. 

"Oh, and thank you very much, Mr. Detective Investigator," Naomi snarled, whirling on Jim. "I'm sure you're the one to blame for all this, this -- unpleasantness. What happened? Did Blair have one of his nightmares, and you just couldn't leave it alone? Had to go digging into the past?" 

I motioned for Jim to stay on the couch and not to say anything else. 

She turned on me, her face flushed. "You should know by now, the past belongs in the past. It doesn't do any good to drag it out -- you can't change what's happened." She shrugged her shoulders almost helplessly. "You just have to move on and try to forget." 

I walked over to stand before her. "I can't move on, Naomi, I'm stuck. Jim found my paper kisses -- " 

"I knew it," she crowed triumphantly. "I knew he was responsible for this!" 

I looked back at Jim. His jaw was twitching and he held the edge of the sofa in his clenched fists, but he was staying out of it, letting me take the lead again. I could only imagine how hard it was for him to do that. 

"It was going to come up, Naomi, there was no way to avoid it," I said wearily. "I've had nightmares ever since I moved in with Jim. He, uh," I shot a glance back at my partner and saw he was watching me intently, "he always thought they were related to the things I saw and did on the job." 

I got a 'we will talk about this later, Sandburg' look from Jim, and then a small smile, so at least I knew the talk wouldn't be totally awful. 

"Is what you see, what you do, so dreadful that it gives you nightmares?" my mother asked. 

I shrugged. "Sometimes ...." 

"You see? Blair, this is not good for your karma. Just look at the pain you've already caused me. Being with Jim -- this whole situation is just full of delusion and hostility." She closed her eyes again and began to breathe. 

I felt Jim stand, and I knew he was going to speak. I waved him silent and could almost _feel_ him choking on the words he swallowed. 

"Naomi, there's delusion here," I said, "and there's hostility, but it's not coming from me. You're the queen of delusion." 

Naomi just stood there, breathing. I knew she was trying to let the words wash over and around her and not hear them. But I also knew that she _would_ hear me. 

"I was scared, Mom," I said. "I was lonely and afraid. You were all the family that I had and you just kept leaving. All the time, you were leaving. You never seemed to care about what it was like for me when you were gone." 

"I wasn't gone that much, Blair," Naomi snapped, her eyes flying open. "You act as if you were left alone for all of your childhood." 

I cocked my head and looked at her as if I were seeing her for the first time. She was beautiful, but there was something missing. It was like she was _vacant_ somehow. "Answer me this, Naomi," I said. "Tell me how many times you think you left me behind when I was growing up." I was trying to stay calm, but my voice was rising. "How many times?" 

She shrugged, her hands fluttering delicately in the air as if my question were of no importance. "Oh, Blair, sweetie, this is no good. You know you can't be so focused on the past -- it's not good for you." 

"Answer him, Naomi," Jim said, my shoulder suddenly warm from the weight of his hand. 

She glared at him again, then turned away from us. "I don't know. Ten, maybe twelve times." She turned back and looked at me and there was anger and antipathy in her eyes. "It seemed to me that you were _always_ there." 

Her words hurt -- and the rancor behind them was almost overwhelming. All these years, and she'd been so filled with resentment. I was having trouble breathing again, but Jim's hand moved to my back, rubbing lightly, and I managed to breathe without being prompted this time. 

"One hundred and seventeen," he said, never taking his eyes off me. "You left him one hundred and seventeen times." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Naomi said dismissively. "Of course I didn't. If that were the case, I'd have been gone more than I was there." 

"That about sums it up, Mom," I said, the bitterness clear in my voice. "You not only weren't there when I was four and Don was beating me with his belt, his fist, his feet -- you weren't there when I was seven and Terry used to smack me for 'being smart.' Or when I was eleven and Vince used to knock me around for getting in the way." 

I took a deep breath and went on. "And you weren't there when I was eight -- you _fucking_ lost me for six months when I was eight! I was passed from person to person and place to place and each time I was less wanted and more of a nuisance, and the last time, Naomi, the last place was -- _awful._ " I was shaking and I didn't know what to do with my hands. They hung limp at my sides, but I wanted to do something with them. I moved into the kitchen and began to fill the kettle. 

"Do you remember? You left me with Rainbow or Sunlight or something like that." 

"Starlight," Naomi said softly. 

I chanced a glance up and she was shaking, too. "And then Starlight was in that accident. So her cousin took me in. What was her name?" 

"Freedom." 

"Yeah, Freedom." 

"I visited them when I was looking for you. They seemed like nice enough people, even if they were a little square." 

"They pretty much ignored me, which was okay. I'd have been okay there, but then Freedom decided to be Janie again, and she got married. And you don't take a kid on the honeymoon. So she left me with her neighbor -- Beverly." 

"I know all this, Blair," Naomi said impatiently. "It took me over a week to track you down, and then I had to drive all the way to Texas to get you." 

"Yeah, Beverly's husband got transferred and they took me with them. You ever wonder why that was, Mom? Didn't it seem a little weird? I mean, I was just some strange kid -- not theirs, I didn't even belong to someone they knew. Nobody was paying them to keep me. But they sure as hell didn't want to let me go." The kettle was overflowing in the sink. Jim reached around me and turned off the water, then took the kettle and set it on the stove. I looked at Naomi. "Why do you suppose that was?" 

She actually had a frown on her face, and I thought for a minute my words might be getting through, but then she said, "There's no point in bringing this up, Blair. The past is past. Nothing can be done to change it." 

"Maybe I need to talk about it. Maybe I need to get it out so that I can _process_ it. Maybe I just want my mother to _hear_ me and tell me it wasn't my fault." Behind me, Jim was coiled. I could feel him vibrating with tension. I wondered what he sensed in me. 

"You remember Frank, Mom? Beverly's husband." 

"I don't want to talk about this, Blair." 

"He liked to play with me." 

"That's enough. It's over, it's done. Nothing can change it." 

"I liked it at first. It was just a little roughhousing, you know -- guy stuff. Or what I imagined was guy stuff. I wouldn't really know. Most of the guys you hung around with didn't want to have anything to do with me." 

"I'm leaving now, Blair," Naomi said, marching toward my old room. 

"I didn't realize how nice that was until after Frank. After Frank, I was glad when your friends ignored me." I laughed bitterly. "Hell, I was _glad_ when all Vince wanted to do was knock me around." 

She was coming out of the room now, her bags in hand. "I'll call you when I'm settled somewhere. We both need time to let some of this negative energy fade." 

"After a while, Frank didn't just roughhouse. He _touched_ me." I felt my throat tighten and my eyes filled with tears. 

"I love you, sweetie," Naomi called as she headed for the door. 

I looked up to see Jim had moved. No longer in the kitchen, he now stood between Naomi and her way out. 

"Then he used to come in my room at night, Mom. He'd get in the bed with me. I told Beverly, Mommy, I did. I told her it hurt and I didn't like it and to please, please make him stop, and you know what she told me? You know what she said, Mom?" I was crying now, but I had started this, I was going to get it out. 

Naomi's back was to me, her head down, but I caught the almost imperceptible movement as she shook her head. 

"'Better you than me, kid,' that's what she said. 'Better you than me.'" 

Naomi's hand rose to her mouth, but she didn't move. 

"I begged her to call you, Mommy. I used to cry at night for you to come and get me. I was with them for four months -- four months! And he was always, always there. There was nowhere to go to get away. I couldn't hide." 

"I'm sorry, Blair," Naomi whispered, "I'm sorry. I have to go." 

Jim looked at me and I nodded. 

He moved to the side, then leaned down and spoke to my mother, holding her in place until she nodded, then she was gone. The door shut and I was suddenly wrapped in strong arms and crushed against a broad chest. 

"God, Blair, it wasn't your fault," Jim breathed. "You have to know that. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong." 

I was still crying. I hated crying. It made my head hurt and my sinuses fill up and it absolutely exhausted me. But I just couldn't stop. 

"I love you so much," Jim murmured into my ear. "You are the strongest person I know." 

He led me to the couch and pulled me down next to him and I turned and buried my face in his shirt. I cried until the whistle on the kettle blew, and then I just sort of sniffled for a while. Jim made a production out of making tea, and it made me laugh, but then I started to cry again. And it took a long time to stop. We sat sideways on the couch, with me between his legs and his strong arms wrapped around my waist. My head lay against his shoulder and he kept lifting a hand to smooth my hair. 

"It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong." Jim murmured the words once, twice, a hundred times, until, at last, I went back to sniffling. He didn't ask any questions and I was grateful for that. I don't think I could have answered them. 

"Frank's already dead," I said softly, "so you don't have to go after him." It was weird. Knowing that Jim would seek this man out for me was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because it made me feel safer and more loved than I'd ever felt in my life. And terrifying because I knew that if Jim ever unleashed the fury he felt, his actions could end up with him being taken away from me. I don't think I could bear that. "He died when I was fifteen." 

"How?" 

"Killed in prison. Naomi kept in touch with Starlight, and she mentioned it. I always thought Naomi told me so that I would know I didn't have to worry about him anymore." 

"Did Naomi know what he did to you?" 

"I didn't tell her, but I think she figured it out. He was in prison for molesting another kid." I dropped my head into my hands. "I'm such a fuck-up." 

Jim nuzzled my neck and whispered, "No." 

"I should have told. I should have done something. Some other kid had to live through it because I was too scared to say anything." 

"You were a kid yourself." Jim kissed my ear and brushed my hair back again. "It wasn't your fault." 

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing," I quoted. 

"Good _men,_ " Jim said. "You were a child." 

"I'm not a child now." 

"No, you're not. And Don is dead and Frank is dead and the world is safe from them both. There's a baby girl in North Carolina who's going to grow up with love and respect because you were brave enough to face all this shit." He turned my head and met my eyes. "You're a good man, Chief," he said softly. "I love you." 

I turned and wrapped my arms around him, nestling into his chest again. "My head hurts," I confessed somewhatshakily. 

"And I bet you're tired." 

I nodded. 

He kissed the top of my head, then gently extricated himself from my grasp. "You finished with that?" he asked, pointing at my mug. 

I nodded. 

He grabbed the cup and I shut my eyes. I could hear him in the kitchen, then he went to the bathroom. A hand on my shoulder made me open my eyes and he held out three Tylenol and a glass of water. I swallowed them with no discussion. He put the glass on the coffee table and pulled me to my feet, then steered me toward the stairs and up to the bedroom. 

I felt like rubber, soft and pliable and totally devoid of the ability to support myself. Jim basically carried me up, then stripped me down to my boxers and tucked me in the bed. He produced a cold cloth and laid it over my eyes, then sat beside me, holding my hand. 

"Stay?" I asked. 

"Always," he whispered. 

"Hold me?" 

My answer this time was the rustle of clothing as Jim stripped down too, and then he slid in the bed beside me. His arms came around me, pulling me over until he lay spooned up against my back. My cold cloth fell off and I felt Jim pick it up and replace it. He stroked my hair. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered in the darkness. 

"For what?" I murmured, drowsiness threatening to overtake me. 

"Sorry she couldn't be what you need." 

I rolled over and snuggled up against him, planting a kiss on his collarbone. "You're what I need." 

"It's not the same," he said softly, brushing my hair back. 

"It's enough." I closed my eyes again. 

The cloth was magically on my head again, and I sighed contentedly. 

"It's not the same," he repeated, his voice still low and tight. "Nothing can replace your mother." 

The hurt in his voice reminded me that he'd lived without his mother for most of his life. And the pain was still so sharp. We were a fine pair, both with so many demons, and yet we'd somehow managed to find each other. Made you believe in miracles. 

"Naomi's not lost," I whispered, suddenly realizing that Jim needed me to have my mother. "She just had to -- leave -- for a while." I sighed again, not so contented anymore. "She'll be back and it will all be okay." 

"She hates me," Jim breathed. 

"She won't hate you when she comes back. She knows I'm serious so she'll adjust. She really does love me -- in her own way." 

"Of course she loves you, Chief." 

"It'll be okay," I repeated. 

"Yeah," he agreed. "It'll be okay." His hand began to rub my back. "Go to sleep now." 

"You'll be here?" 

He kissed me gently, on my nose, my cheek, my lips. 

"I'm not ever leaving, Blair." 

End 

* * *

End I Was Lonely and Afraid by Daydreamer: daydream59@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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